Act Two

It's the Friday show and sushi was eaten and the Old Market was frolicked in. I had forgotten that today was Tickled Pink's first Sushi Excursion with the gang. I was so proud to have brought her even closer into the cult family.

We were spectacular tonight. Everyone glowed. Tomorrow, we're going to blow everyone away because these shows are only getting better.

Squids, Tigginator, and The Stubby One came tonight! I love them all so much. They're the most loyal and splendid group of people- they never miss a production, and I am so thankful to them for it.

Tomorrow is the final day. There will be tears, but I'm not going to think about that just now.

First Curtain

One down, two to go.

We rocked it tonight, and since this is our first performance we have nowhere to go but up.

Currently I am completely overwhelmed with love for my people. We've been through so much together- three productions, a remodel, trips to the sushi bar, and a whole ton of uncertainty. But we are the greatest group of people I know. Seriously, you guys, my stomach is completely sick with emotion. It's one of those love-someone-so-much-it-hurts kind of feelings.

We're going on our annual Sushi Excursion tomorrow. I love these people.

Happy Opening Night-Eve

Well, that was our last dress rehearsal. Tomorrow's opening night. Oh my. Here we go again.

Help A Sister Out?

Tomorrow is dress rehearsal. I am still worried.

I'm putting together a presentation on formalism. Anybody know of any examples of formalism in literature or film? I'm drawing a blank.

Again, short posts this week. Sorry about that.

Brace Yourselves. Tech Week Is Coming.

This week's posts are going to be even shorter than usual. I've got a lot to do and I'll be exhausted, so please please please bear with me.

Tech Week has begun and everything is chaos. But as Jumper tries to tell me daily, at first it never seems like it's going to come together, but we're always pleasantly surprised with the results. I'm beyond excited to be seeing that boy every day this week. I don't see him enough. We spent so much time together onstage today that my scarf actually came home smelling like him. That scarf smells a little bit like everyone I love. Sometimes when I'm worried or stressed I put it over my head and breathe in. It's comforting, reminding me that the ones I love aren't so far away after all.

I should work on remembering that all the time.

The Bomb Is Ticking

I am really stressing.

We've got 20 days until Louder Than A Bomb. We have one group piece ready when we need three. Tickled Pink, Good Sport, and I spent three hours trying to get something, anything, competition ready. It was rough. We've taken the remnants home to work on for ourselves.

I am not creating anything of worth and it's making me sick. I literally have written nothing for myself. It's so frustrating and I can't figure out how to push through it. This is not okay.

Twenty days.

Things That Are Good

Today I slept. Sleeping is good. I also had a cup of coffee and some toast. That was good, too.

That is seriously all I did. And it was good.

I'm going to Tickled Pink's tomorrow to work on some more poetry pieces. That also shall be good.

Sorry, I'm too tired to think of any more riveting adjectives.

I Am A Fancy Intellectual Person, Watch Me Nonchalantly Sip My Fancy Espresso

It is 12:22 a.m. and I am back from an evening with FG's Other Sons:Quiet Guy, Musical Mastermind, and The Cat. We went to the nonprofit movie theater downtown to see a film called "We Need to Talk About Kevin."

I am never surprised at the movie theater. I haven't ever found myself taken aback at any plot twists or surprises. This movie was no different- I was pretty good about being a step or two ahead of the action, and just this once I was glad. Because this movie was deeply, deeply unsettling. It was very well done, but it left me stunned. I'm still sort of processing my thoughts about it.

I'm really enjoying getting to know these three boys. They're really lovely people. Unfortunately I think Quiet Guy might be scarred for life after this adventure. The poor kid probably had no clue what he was getting into.

If anything, this evening was a reminder that getting out and doing things is actually a good thing. People are nice. Going places with friends is fun and exciting.

Also, going to a fancy nonprofit indie theater made me feel super artsy and cool, especially because I was wearing a wrap skirt. I could practically feel myself drowning in the waves of culture.

Just to assure I'm not plagued with nightmares, I'm going to go watch some Buffy. Night, all.

P.S. an enormous congratulations to Big Funny Kid, new state speech champion. His OID placed fourth and his school won the meet for the sixth year in a row. Speak on, Yakking Raiders.

You Really Don't Want To Read This

It is late and I have read a lot of poetry and have sung a lot of songs and I am tired.

I am also reading this blog post in my best Slam Poetry voice.

I am turning into one of Them.

Sorry. Too tired for my own good, folks. PreCalc beckons.

This Day.

Mentally exhausted after sitting through a fairly uncomfortable but generally alright National Honors Society induction ceremony.

Also mentally exhausted from studying for a giant PreCalc test that I'm extreeeeemely worried about.

Also fangirling really hard because Kait Rokowski told me that I am one million shades of adorable. She's my favorite slam poet and I've gotten to see her perform multiple times and she recently took third place at the Women of the World Poetry Slam in Denver. Besides her poetic prowess, she's a super great human. AND SHE THINKS OF ME AS AN ACCEPTABLE HUMAN BEING. Will wonders never cease?

"Kait Rokowski is the kind of writer I completely trust, rooted in the kind of muddy honesty that makes her readers/listeners want to become better humans. Her poems are sly and full of blood, she is going to dismantle everything wrong with poetry. She is one of the women who will save the poetry slam scene from itself."
-Rachel McKibbens

It's the truth, y'all. Here's to PreCalc and Poetry.

Here Comes The Magic

Variety show rehearsals are starting to pick up this week. We've only got about ten days left until opening night, so it's about time we start to get serious about putting the show together. Part of me is very, very scared that nothing will come together. I think I've got a couple days before I'm allowed to worry about that, though.

My dear Jumper and I ran through our piece today. Father Steinbecker has all these grandiose plans for background whistling and dancing and ukuleles and so we took today to start constructing his "vision". This was our first rehearsal in the auditorium since Charlotte's Web ended, so singing together and hearing our voices echo off the walls and floor was very refreshing. I have so very many memories of that space. Jumper told me later that it gave him shivers.

At first I was very concerned that a variety show would not be Duchesne Theater. That there would be a different group of people involved and none of our traditions would mean anything. But standing on that stage with my Spirit Unicorn took all those doubts out of my mind.

We made real Theater Magic today. And that, my friends, is all I could ever ask for.

The paper is nearly done.

Goodbye for now, Blogosphere.

I just realized that I let my hundredth post go by relatively uncelebrated. Oops. That's a big milestone for me, too. And it only took eleven months to get here. Woooow.

I'll put up a video or something to celebrate it properly. But not right now. Right now I am laziness.

Today I heard Trish's lovely voice in her choir and got to see her for a little bit afterwards. I've missed her so. I am so proud of my sassy little ginger songbird.

Also I am writing a paper that has my eyes filling with tears of frustration every five to ten minutes. I'm writing about the witches in Macbeth. It's a little discouraging because I really want to enjoy and understand the material and writing this paper proves to me that I don't. I should probably read the handouts a little more thoroughly.

Back to the paper. Love you all.

Of Sushi and Sweet Potato Tots

It's a wonderful feeling, seeing people you miss. And I got to see two of them today! Lucky me.

MoDawg picked me up this afternoon. The last time I was with her we drove around west Omaha with a giant bag of fries strapped into an infant seat in the back of her car. There were no fries today. Instead, we drove around the city looking for a sushi joint with available parking. That, my friends, is quite a quest when St. Patrick's Day falls on a Saturday and you live in a town full of Irish people. Somehow we managed, though, and many raw fish rolls were consumed and the world was at peace.

We decided to go visit Jumper at work, partially because we miss him but also because we had a hankering for some sweet potato tots. Seriously-those exist! But Jumper dear works on what I believe to be the opposite corner of the globe from every other part of civilization. Mo and I got lost multiple times. We even entered No Man's Land, fifty feet of space between where one county ends and another begins. I could feel the supernatural forces at work. I cried tiny tears of relief when we finally reached our destination and received multiple Jumper hugs. And the tots were so worth it.

Today had its glitches, but doesn't every day? Besides, hopelessly circling around a parking lot is far more fun when there are two people cursing the cars that take up the good spots.

Boring Life Post

I've had a full day.

Father Steinbecker and I drove all the way to the DMV and were too intimidated by the length of the line to even go in. Again, one does not simply walk into Mordor. One must stumble in, uncaffeinated, in the very early morning if one wants to make it through with a permit. I guess we'll try again another time.

I spent two hours with some lovely poetry ladies arranging a piece for group performance. Two pots of coffee and multiple chocolate chip muffins were consumed. But we did what we set out to do-adapt one three minute poem for four voices. We're super psyched to show the rest of our team later this week.

Our dear friends are here all the way from St. Louis. There are now fourteen people in a house that isn't even really big enough for the seven it normally holds. But that's okay. I'm so, so glad to have them here, even if it means extra chaos. Especially if it means extra chaos.

This is my last weekday of Spring Break. No part of me wants to go back on Monday. Such is life, my friends.

A Medley Of Happenings

Today was one of those days that slid by quite fast, but the morning seems oh-so long ago. That could be because I was asleep for most of it...oh well.

The Management brought home what seemed to be an entire Chinese restaurant for dinner. I was very pleased. (Sidenote: I have found that the only correct method of eating Chinese food is to eat until full, wait thirty minutes, then eat the rest of the container.)

FG came by for hugs and chaos while she waited to pick Big Funny Kid, newly-medaled speech champion, up from district speech. His OID took first in the district and now they're headed to state! Baah. So proud.

I spent a lot of the night staring at the ceiling and/or the floor while listening to Ben Folds and other melancholy bachelor music. I need a life.

Tomorrow I'm going to walk into the Mordor that is the DMV and attempt to get my learner,s permit. But one does not simply walk into Mordor, so I expect this to be a lengthy trip. Wish me luck!

Sleepier Than A Honey Badger Post-Cobra

Hung out at Durmstrang today. Because when I don't have school, I go to schools that do have school.

I need a life. Or a hobby. Or both.

I saw Big Funny Kid for a total of three seconds this afternoon. I miss that boy. It's been too long.

Now that I'm at 96 posts, the pressure's on for me to blog something awesome in celebration of my centennial. Whatever shall I do? Leave ideas in the comments, I might need help to come up with something cool.

Dang I'm lame. Sorry about that.

FrolicFest 2012

Frolicking is good for the soul. It is my absolute favorite thing to do in the world. However, it is an activity that unfortunately cannot be performed in the wintertime. It is simply too frigid and snowy to skip around outside wearing a flowy skirt.

But for some strange reason, winter has decided to head for the hills a few weeks early. It was nearly eighty degrees today. There was a nice breeze and the sun shone for the whole afternoon. The lovely temperature combined with an abundance of sunlight made this day positively perfect for frolicking.

I hope there are more pretty days like this to come. The low light and the cold of winter were exactly the opposite of beneficial to me, and so I've been just ecstatic to finally feel some sunshine. Yesterday I heard birds singing for the first time since October. I nearly cried, it was so wonderful.

I may frolic more tomorrow.

Day One of Freedom

I slept until noon and had frozen yogurt for breakfast/lunch. The Management is completely obsessed with froyo. It's a little insane.

In exchange for the free food, I spray painted styrofoam shields for her. Fair trade, I think.

I also went on a lovely coffee run with Musical Mastermind. We were met by Gypsaur, and so the MegaFriend Trifecta was united at last. Seriously, we've been trying to get the three of us together for months now. I'm worried that our being all together has caused a black hole to open somewhere in the universe.

We're headed into a week of perfect frolicking weather here in Homaha. I am thrilled.

I did nothing today.

Nothing at all.

Daylight Savings Time has me all confused.

I don't like it.

Of Pizza and Poets

Saturday, March 10

Miss Tickled Pink and Good Sport picked me up today and whisked me away to a poetry workshop at the downtown library. We got the chance to work with last year's Individual World Poetry Slam champion, which was super cool. Plus also there was free pizza.

We learned a lot about writing for groups and slam strategy in the four hours we spent there. We've got a couple seeds scattered about in terms of ideas for our group piece, and that's nice, but I'm a little unnerved. More than anything, this workshop was a wake up call for me. There's only a month left before the Louder Than a Bomb competition and we don't have any group pieces ready. That's scary.

But we can handle it. If George Watsky can crowd surf through an auditorium of teenage poets like a majestic albatross, we can write a group piece in a month.

A Birthday Post

Spring Break has sprung and I may begin my ten days of not caring about anything at all. It's about time.

My first official act of fun was to surprise Suspicious Water Bottle for her birthday which was last week. De-Facto Mongolian Sweetheart, Russian Frisbee Player, myself, and others gathered with cake, balloons, and old movies ahead of time to assure that we wouldn't be caught off guard should our dear SWB decide to be early for once.

She wasn't early. Actually, she was half an hour late. That worked out just fine for us. Pizza was eaten and cake was devoured before I remembered that SWB has never had a birthday party.

We threw this girl the first birthday bash she has ever experienced in fifteen years of living on this earth.

Hopefully there will be more to come. Hopefully she won't judge our efforts when she finally realizes how lame we all are.

New Feeling

I went to bed angry last night. I had angry dreams. I woke up angry. I am angry at so many things and even angry at myself for being angry in the first place.

I don't recall ever being mad like this. That's not a feeling I normally experience; it's not in my emotional lexicon. I consider myself to be a very nice person. I guess I sort of forgot what "utterly pissed-off at everything" felt like.

If you were wondering, it feels like you're nervous and you ate something rotten and you want to drop kick a kitten. Or dragon kick a baby, whichever opportunity presents itself first. I probably need to scream a bit, but it is nighttime and I can't. Oh well.

There will be other days to destroy my esophagus.

A Brief Note

Sometimes, people suck. Sometimes, it's you.

Some Little Things And One Very Important Thing

I woke up this morning and felt as if I had gotten enough sleep.

I went through the day fully caffeinated.

I want you to watch this video. 30 minutes is all it takes. It is very, very important. It will change lives. Help these children. Help the world.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y4MnpzG5Sqc

That'll be all.

Poetry In The Morning

I do a lot of writing. I know that's fairly obvious because you are currently reading my blog which I use to post some things I have written and have deemed acceptable for viewing. But it's true. I love to write.

I love the swirl and swing of words as they tangle with human emotions.

I don't know who said that, but it perfectly describes my feelings on the subject. Words have a graceful feel to them. Like a head of long and curly hair, they are a tangled, swinging mess of grown out hopes. (Side note: I would give anything for some nice curls.)

I filled one pretty little notebook with some poems my eighth grade year, and since then that notebook is nowhere to be found. I grieve a little for it- that was the year that I embraced my need to write, and some of what I wrote was good. The words came easier to me then. Freshman year I struggled with everything; even the simple act of putting pencil to paper was a battle.

This year is different. Poetry is becoming more than just a little nighttime free-writing deal. I am slamming. Well, I'm going to try it. A group of us at school have started meeting Monday and Thursday mornings to draft, prompt, perform, and discuss poetry that could be used for a citywide slam in April. We're coached by a cheery and lovely and oh-so-talented poet who is super excited about working with us and keeps bringing in more cheery and lovely and oh-so-talented poets. She's the best. I like her a lot.

These meetings color my entire day. Something about sharing my words with others and listening to theirs gets my adrenaline pumping, carrying me through to the final bell.

I'm going to a workshop on Saturday afternoon, and I might stop by open mic that night.

Poetry is magic and words are love.

Lonely Girl

I’ve always thought that I've been so fiercely independent my entire life. That I live in my own little world where no one has the right to tell me what to wear or how to live or what to say and how to say it. I take care of myself. I am the guardian of my emotions. I am my own keeper. I need no one else.

Maybe I deluded myself into thinking I was invincible. If that’s the case, then the illusion is up. I find myself clinging tighter to the relationships I have not yet ruined, holding with a vice grip to the ones I’ve come to love so deeply, so dearly that it hurts. I will not let them go. They’ve taught me how to love people in ways I never knew; from them I have gained friendships so deep and beautiful that it’s hard to imagine living without them.

With that learning to love comes an irrepressible desire to be loved. I want someone to dance with me, to trace my freckles. Yes, I want those things.

But I need to be held. Just rocked to sleep and kept away from the world. Despite all my attempts to convince myself of my strength, I crave feeling breakable. My greatest wish is for someone to recognize that no matter the front I put up, I am not always strong.

It disgusts me to feel this way, to have this overwhelming need to be taken care of. But we all need to feel fragile sometimes, I think.

No Lohan

Saturday, March 3

I am kind of disgusted with my lack of productivity today.

I didn't leave my house, I didn't do homework, I didn't do anything exercise-related, I pretty much sat and slept and let my three million dogs out and in.

FG came over, though, bringing along a sassy new haircut and one Big Funny Kid. It was nice. I haven't seen either of them in what feels like forever. BFK had just come from a speech tournament in some sort of Children of the Corn town about an hour and a half away. We talked, we laughed, we ate. Some of us made inappropriate jokes. Such is life when these two come to visit.

I was so prepared for Saturday Night Live last night. I made my little bowl of ice cream and my little bit of chocolate sauce and sat down only ten minutes before it started. You have no idea how excited I was to see what they'd do with Lindsay Lohan as host. I turned all the ideas around in my mind until there were only two minutes left to wait.

And then...the power went out.

It wasn't just a blown fuse. All of the power on the whole block and the block north of ours went as well. I was not thrilled. I went to bed.

Some Saturdays don't go according to plan.

What My Father Doesn't Say

Tonight I finally got to watch Father Steinbecker onstage and in his element. He was playing a blind and very drunk Irishman. I've seen this particular play four times now, the first three times being four years ago when he played the same role. This is a revival. And good lord, is it great. I'm going to gush about him now.

The stage is his tool, and he is an expert craftsman. Sorry, that last sentence sounds a bit stuffy and pompous, but it is the honest-to-goodness truth. He is the best. I am in awe every time I see him onstage. His acting actually makes me emotional. I don't cry or anything-I rarely cry in the theatre-but when I watch my father act I get an overwhelming feeling of "oh wow, that is beautiful." Yes, he's my dad and I love him, but I also respect him as an actor.

What I find the most interesting about going to the theatre to watch my father perform is his biography in the program. I have learned more about his educational and professional backgrounds by piecing together information from various playbills than I have from actually talking to him. This isn't because he is inclined to keep his past a secret, it's just because we never talk about that. Mostly we exchange cynical comments about the state of the nation. Honestly, I think we need to host our own talk show.

I'm going to have my father as a teacher next year. I will be in his American Literature Honors class. The curriculum is going to be tough, but that is not what I am concerned about at this point. I am worried as to what he will say (or refrain from saying) when I am in his classroom. The juniors taking his class right now tell me that he says the most profound things and gives the greatest life advice. They've provided examples that shake me.

"At one point or another in your life, you will fall in love with someone who cannot love you back."
"We continually return to the places, the people, that hurt us the most. I suppose you could say we haunt them."

I worry that I am not ready to hear these words come out of my father's mouth. They are words of pain that I am sure have a story to them. But whatever the story is, I will never know it.

After all, that is not the kind of thing you publish in a playbill.

My father is a good man. He is a talented, literary, educated, well-dressed man. He is a man who understands. He is a man who does not say everything, but he is a man who does not lie.

My father is an actor.

Friday Eve

This is another Thursday Hatred Post. I'm pretty sure I've got quite a few of them on this blog. Oh well. Bear with me.

Thursdays suck for a variety of reasons. I have eighty minutes each of my four most challenging and/or demanding classes. My morning consists of trying to stay afloat in Chemistry and attempting to wrap my head around Inverse Trig Functions in PreCalc. Interestingly enough, I completely adore everything about Trigonometry save for the inverse functions. Those are stupid, and unfortunately for me I've been stuck with them for two weeks.

Thursday drags. It is the slovenly twenty-something wearing a stained white T-shirt, playing Pokemon in his mother's wood-paneled basement that he keeps full of empty beer cans and napkins covered in pizza grease. I apologize for what could be seen as mildly disturbing imagery, but that's honestly what comes to mind. My head is funny.

Thursdays, however, are decidedly not funny.